


Un pull bleu

by Vegan_Venom



Series: A Rainbow of Discarded Clothes [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bicurious character, Established Relationship, Guilt, M/M, Roleplay, Trans Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegan_Venom/pseuds/Vegan_Venom
Summary: Grantaire can paint so well he sometimes gets paid to do it, can dance five modern styles as well as ballroom and tango, and can deliver a monologue on the futility of hope like no one else. It makes sense that he could act if he wanted to. In a special performance for Enjolras' birthday, Grantaire casts himself as not-so-straight-after-all Combeferre.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this one ever since Enjolras told Grantaire in _Un débardeur vert_ that Combeferre once had sex with Enjolras to check whether he was really straight or not, and concluded that he was.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Hope things went alright at the outreach thing today, mon bel ange. Are you home yet? I'm on my way xx**

Enjolras smiles at the text from his boyfriend, looking forward to spending an evening in with Grantaire. Combeferre has been away at a conference for the last few days, and the flat feels empty without another person buzzing around. Enjolras has spent all day talking to strangers and comrades he doesn't know very well, but despite all the socialisation he's lonely. He types out a response, then pulls on his red coat and packs the leaflets and flyers he's collected throughout his many conversations into his messenger bag.

**I'm running a bit late - only leaving now. If you get there before me you can let yourself in with the spare key. xx**

Enjolras makes his way around the room as quickly as he can, saying goodbye to the most useful contacts he made today and reminding them to stay in touch. Feuilly is the only person he knew well already, but his friend is deep in conversation with some union officials, so Enjolras settles for waving at him before exiting the building. Cold winter air hits him as soon as he pulls open the door, reminding Enjolras of the gloves in his pockets. He quickly fishes them out and pulls them on, then tugs his coat tighter around his torso as he heads for the bus stop. There's no printed timetable, but Enjolras is pretty sure this bus is frequent even in the evenings. He pulls the collar of his coat up to shield his neck against the wind as he waits, and bounces on his feet to keep warm. After a little while watching the cars pass by, their headlights shining on him briefly then retreating, he's already impatient. Enjolras has never been very good with waiting.

He clumisily digs his phone out of his pocket and sighs when he notes the time. It has only been seven minutes since he left - hardly the twenty it felt like. Enjolras considers checking his RATP app to see how far away the bus is, but that would require removing a glove, and his fingers are already starting to go numb. Just as he's about to put his phone away it vibrates, the first part of a message from Grantaire appearing on the lock screen.

**Sorry mon ange, I'm a bit delayed :( I'll be there in about an hour, to...**

Enjolras fights down a wave of disappointment. First he has to wait for this godforsaken bus, now he has to wait for his boyfriend to come over. As he's cursing it under his breath the bus materialises, and Enjolras shoves his phone back into his pocket so he can fish out his travelcard instead.

 

By the time Enjolras gets to his apartment building twenty minutes later he's shivering, and has a hard time getting his fingers to cooperate in the task of unlocking his front door. Finally he manages, and enters his warm flat with relief. His cold coat and gloves are quickly discarded, and his shoes slipped off. Enjolras is flexing his poor toes and vigorously rubbing his hands together when he notices that he's not alone. In the living room he can see back of a dark head of hair, as his flatmate sits on their sofa reading. 

"Ferre!" he exclaims, pleased and confused. "I thought you were going to be at your conference in Dresden until Sunday. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Enj," Combeferre reassures him without turning, his deep voice sounding a little odd. "I made you coffee - you must be cold."

A hot drink sounds divine to Enjolras right now, and he heads straight for the steaming beverage on their coffee table, cradling it between his hands for warmth as he sits beside his flatmate. "Thank you! You're the best, Ferre. I -" Enjolras stops abruptly as he looks at him properly for the first time tonight.

The man sitting next to him is not Combeferre. It's Grantaire. Though really, Enjolras can't be blamed for his mistake.

Grantaire is wearing a blue sweater vest over a white shirt, mustard-coloured chinos and soft white socks. Brown-framed glasses in exactly the same style Combeferre wears are perched on his slightly aquiline nose. He's cut off his chin-length dark brown curls and styled them to look somewhat smart, and he's even shaved. Enjolras hadn't thought anything could compel Grantaire to part with his hard-won facial scruff, but apparently he was wrong. All in all, Grantaire looks exactly like Combeferre, apart from Grantaire's much smaller build and much lighter skin tone. Enjolras sits staring, his mouth agape, not knowing where to start with his questions.

"Drink your coffee, Enj," Grantaire says, mimicking Combeferre's usual calm and the nickname only he uses for Enjolras. He's affecting a deeper voice, so different from Grantaire's normally scratchy mid-tone.

Enjolras doesn't obey. "What's going on, R?" he asks, completely lost.

"It's pronounced 'Ferre'," Grantaire replies with an easy smile, and closes his book, placing it on the coffee table. "I came home early because I wanted to talk to you, Enj."

Enjolras isn't fond of being ignored, and he's not going to play this game which he doesn't even know the rules to. "R," he warns.

Grantaire leans forward and places a hand on Enjolras' knee. It's a gesture which would have been completely normal coming from either his boyfriend or his flatmate, but right now it feels wrong. If he hadn't been cradling the hot mug of coffee, Enjolras would have brushed the hand away.

"I came home because I missed you, and I couldn't stop thinking about you," Grantaire says earnestly, still in a deep, steady voice. "And I wanted to test a hypothesis I have. I've been thinking, lately, that the one trial we did a couple of years ago wasn't enough. No true scientist ever came to a solid conclusion after just one trial, after all. So to test whether I'm really straight after all, I propose another experiment..." 

As he talks, Grantaire's hand slides from Enjolras' knee up his leg, and when it's barely an inch from his crotch Enjolras jumps up abruptly, splashing some of his coffee onto his shirt. He hisses at the temperature, which luckily was not scalding, and quickly sets the mug down so he can pull the wet fabric away from his skin. A few seconds later, Grantaire is in front of him with a wet teatowel, and Enjolras lets him dab at the stains.

"Sorry," Grantaire mumbles, focused resolutely on his task. Enjolras can't tell whether he's still putting on Combeferre's voice or not, but he is determined to understand what's going on.

"Grantaire," he says firmly, tilting up the man's chin to force eye contact. Enjolras is momentarily distracted by the smoothness of his boyfriend's jaw, but continues. "Stop whatever act you've got going on, and tell me what's happening."

Grantaire sighs, and immediately loses his upright posture, settling back into his slumped shoulders. "I'm sorry, mon ange. I fucked it up." Grantaire's voice is his again, and Enjolras relaxes. "It was meant to be a surprise for your birthday. I wanted to give you... well, what I guessed was one of your fantasies."

Enjolras blushes. "My birthday's not until next week," he replies, which is the easy part to say. "But I'm not... I mean, I don't... I have _you_ , R. I don't have _fantasies_ about Combeferre."

Grantaire smirks, seeming to have got his confidence back now that Enjolras is unsettled. "Sure, you don't. He's your best friend. You might've had a crush on him once, but that was years ago now. It's not like you ever think about that one time he 'tried you out' any more. You don't lie awake at night remembering his hand wrapped around you, remembering what he tasted like when he came in your mouth."

Enjolras gulps. He could deny it, but it's true that he sometimes guiltily gives into those thoughts. He shouldn't, he's perfectly happy with Grantaire, he is. But he still lives with Combeferre, sees him practically every day, and his feelings never went away, he just buried them. 

Grantaire seems to notice his advantage and begins massaging Enjolras' chest instead of wiping it. "I'm really fine with it, mon ange. In fact, I think it's pretty hot. I wouldn't be doing this otherwise." Then Grantaire drops his voice back down to Combeferre's register. "Will you try me out again, Enj? I can't stop thinking about that night we had."

Enjolras' face is still bright red, and his emotions are a mix of embarassment, guilt and arousal which stop him from pushing Grantaire away when the man pulls off Enjolras' wet t-shirt. 

Grantaire strokes the exposed chest reverantly, exploring the pale skin with his hands as though he'd never been allowed to before. "You're the only man I've ever felt this way about," he says, and Enjolras squeezes his eyes shut, ashamed of his reaction to that statement. Oh, what he'd give for the real Combeferre to tell him that! No, he has Grantaire now. But this _is_ Grantaire. Enjolras' thoughts are a jumble, and he can't quite figure out where he should stand on this, whether what he's doing is wrong.

"I was sitting in those seminars yesterday, and all I could think about was the way you looked when you sucked my cock."

Enjolras gasps at that, at the vulgar words coming from Combeferre's mouth. He's not quite sure when he decided to play along, but it's easier to be led, and once Enjolras lets himself imagine that it's really Combeferre's hands on him he's hit with a wave of arousal which has his knees buckling. Combeferre wraps a muscular arm around his waist to catch Enjolras, pulling him close.

"Can I kiss you, Enj?" he asks, minty breath ghosting across Enjolras' lips.

Enjolras must have imagined this scenario dozens of times, in the months before anything happened. Imagined his best friend coming to him, hesitant, explaining that he thought he might be bisexual, that he might have feelings for Enjolras. And then after it had briefly come true just once two years ago, Enjolras had pleasured himself countless times to the memory of Combeferre's clever lips and tongue. Now, with a nod, he feels those lips again. Slightly smaller and thinner than he remembers, but he pushes away the truth and clings to the fantasy. Combeferre has changed his mind. He's not straight after all. He wants this.

Enjolras grabs the back of his flatmate's head, his fingers brushing over soft, short hair, ignoring that it's the wrong texture, and pulls him in to deepen the kiss. Combeferre moans, low, and Enjolras tilts his head the other way, knocking glasses askew. Enjolras grabs strong biceps, thinking of all the times he'd run away blushing when he'd seen his flatmate topless, the warm russet-brown muscles so unexpected on a bookish nerd. Combeferre's hands smooth down Enjolras' back to grope at his ass, squeezing.

"I'd like to try something new for the experiment this time," Combeferre murmurs into his ear. "Is that alright with you?"

Enjolras really hopes this is going where he thinks it is. "Please, Ferre," he begs.

Combeferre lifts him by the grip on his ass, and Enjolras obediently wraps his legs around slightly-too-wide hips, their lips locking again as he's carried through their apartment. He's dropped down carefully onto a soft mattress, and greedily inhales the scent of the sheets, fresh with just a hint of Combeferre's musk-

Enjolras' eyes fly open as he jerks up to a sitting position, almost headbutting Grantaire in the process. "This is _Combeferre's_ bedroom!" he says, alarmed, as if his boyfriend might be unaware.

"It is," Grantaire agrees with a laugh, his voice still low. "I want this to be romantic, Enj. So of course we're in my bedroom."

"We're not having sex on his bed," Enjolras protests, ashamed that just being here is a turn-on. This is where Combeferre sleeps, where he masturbates, where he occasionally brings back women - but those thoughts are not helping. "It's a violation of his privacy."

"I don't mind," Grantaire tells him, softly, then pushes him back down onto the bed with a kiss. 

Enjolras lets himself be pressed into the mattress, closing his eyes again and trying to trick himself into imagining that this is really Combeferre, that he's okay with it. His hands smooth over the sweater vest, soft beneath his palms. The man above him reaches down to pull it off, but Enjolras grabs his hands. 

"Leave it on," he instructs, and opens his eyes to take in blue fabric, a white collar, a clean shaven jaw, short hair, and glasses. " _Ferre._ "

Combeferre surges forward at Enjolras' quiet moan, trailing his confident kisses down from Enjolras neck to his bare chest, pink from the cold, then across his stomach.

As Combeferre undoes Enjolras jeans and pulls them off, he says, "I never thought I'd want to suck someone's cock."

Enjolras' hips buck involuntarily, covering his bright-red face with his hands. The very thought of his best friend on his knees for him for the first time is overwhelming. His first time sucking cock. He'd be sloppy of course - it takes practise to get it right. But would he be nervous and hesitant, wondering whether being on his knees for a man compromised his heterosexuality? Or would he be eager, methodically investigating what Enjolras liked as a good scientist should? Enjolras is too wound up, and abruptly realises he's going to come in just seconds when Combeferre starts touching his cock. He quickly rolls over onto his front, trying to fight the urge to rut against the sheets - _Combeferre's_ sheets.

"Alright?" Combeferre asks, concerned. This man always looks out for Enjolras, makes sure he's okay. Enjolras' emotions are all over the place right now.

"I'm fine," Enjolras mumbles into the pillow, embarassed. "I just... will you fuck me, Ferre?" He wiggles his boxer-clad ass a little, hoping it's inviting.

Combeferre groans, and drapes himself over Enjolras' back. Enjolras squirms at the feeling of his erection pressing into Enjolras' lower back. Combeferre presses gentle kisses to the back of Enjolras' neck, and whispers into his ear. "I really want to, Enj. But I don't want to mess up and hurt you. Will you tell me what to do?"

Enjolras grabs the pillow, pushing his face deeper into it. After a few seconds of breathing deeply into the fabric, he realises this is not helping. The pillow smells too much of his best friend. "Okay," he grits out. "We need... lube, and a condom. There's some in my bedroom-"

"Got them," Combeferre says quickly. There's a rustling sound as though he's pulling them from his pocket, but Enjolras doesn't want to look up. "Like I said, I've been thinking about this all week. And you know I'm always prepared."

It's true, Combeferre is always prepared. If someone (usually Bossuet) scapes their knee or elbow, Combeferre is there with disinfectant and plasters. When Enjolras realises he hasn't eaten for half a day, Combeferre will grab a cereal bar from his bag. If Enjolras forgets his scarf, Combeferre will have a spare. Enjolras relies on this man so much, trusts him with his life, and wants to give him everything. Enjolras lifts his hips, and Combeferre pulls his pants down and off his legs.

"You need to prep me," Enjolras instructs, still hiding his face as he pulls a pillow out from under his head and positions it below his hips. "Get some lube on one finger, and uh... and finger me." Enjolras is not usually this embarassed to be talking about sex, but this is not a topic he usually discusses with Combeferre.

Combeferre obeys, the digit entering him so very slowly, carefully. Enjolras gasps, not from discomfort, but from the intimacy of the action.

"Is that okay, Enj?" 

"Yes," he breathes, and Combeferre starts moving his finger in and out. "Another one." Luckily he doesn't have to clarify what he means, and soon Combeferre is stretching him open with two well-lubed fingers. Enjolras squirms on the bed, and when those digits brush against his prostate he lets out a loud moan. Of course Combeferre would be good at this - he's a doctor after all. He adds a third finger without being asked, but Enjolras already knows he's prepared enough. He tries not to think about why that is - about how he's not so tight because he's fucked regularly by Grantaire. Enjolras swallows, and tries to squash down the guilt and confusion warring inside him, focusing instead on the sensation of Combeferre's dexterous fingers scissoring him open. After a few more seconds, he can't take the teasing any more.

"That's enough," he gaps, trying to sound in control. " _Please_ , Ferre. Please fuck me."

Combeferre gently withdraws his fingers, and then Enjolras hears the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open. Time seems to stretch out as Enjolras waits for him to put the condom on and apply more lube. Enjolras is trying so hard not to think too much about what's going on, guilt pressing in on him from both sides: from cheating on his boyfriend if he believes the fantasy, or from getting fucked in his best friend's bed to thoughts of him if he doesn't. The forbidden nature of each heightens his arousal, even as he squeezes his eyes closed in shame. When Combeferre finally lines himself up and breaches him, Enjolras has to think about welfare reforms, the mould in his bathroom and Marine Le Pen's face to force himself back from the edge.

" _Enj!_ " Combeferre moans when he's fully sheathed. "Name of God, you feel good."

Combeferre peppers his upper back with kisses as he begins to thrust, and Enjolras feels like he might cry at the romantic gesture. He's balanced on the edge, trying to hold off climax, and every sensation is heightened, attuned to the delicious stretch of Combeferre's cock inside him, filling him up. Enjolras sees a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and then Combeferre is brushing Enjolras' blonde curls away from his neck so he can suck a bruise into it. 

"I want your boyfriend to see that," Combeferre says when he finishes marking him, speeding up his thrusts and causing Enjolras to see stars. "To see that you're claimed by your best friend."

Enjolras scrambles to get a hand on his own cock, squeezing the base to try to hold off orgasm, but it's too late. At the first touch, he's coming hard, spurting over Combeferre's pillow as the man himself continues to pound into his ass. " _Ferre_ ," he moans desperately, vision whiteing out as he clutches the sheets.

Combeferre pulls out gently, and a second later Enjolras is enveloped in his strong arms. He savours the feeling, of the man he's loved for years finally returning his feelings, even as reality starts to creep back in. 

"Enj?" a man says, softly, and it's not Combeferre's warm, deep voice.

Enjolras forces himself to open his eyes, and sees Grantaire looking back at him through what he now realises are Combeferre's spare pair of glasses with the lenses taken out. Grantaire is smiling at him nervously. "Was that okay?" he asks.

Enjolras surges forward to kiss his boyfriend firmly on the lips. "I'm sorry," he gasps out, and then he can't stop the tears from flowing.

"Hey, no," Grantaire admonishes, tugging him forward into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, mon ange. _I'm_ sorry if I upset you. I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday."

Enjolras sniffles into Grantaire's chest, wondering stupidly where he got the sweater vest. "Do you not want to break up with me?" he asks, voice small. "Now that you have proof that I still... that I have feelings for Combeferre?"

Grantaire laughs, and Enjolras feels a familiar anger at his boyfriend's flippancy. "I already guessed that, beautiful, or I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. But let me ask you this: do you still love me?"

Enjolras pulls back so that Grantaire can see his earnestness. "Of course I still love you, R."

Grantaire smiles. "Then there's absolutely no problem on my end. It's a shame Combeferre _is_ straight, 'cos you'd be pretty hot together, in my opinion. He's not exactly my type, a bit too burly, y'know. But playing him was so _fun_!"

Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief. Even if he doesn't quite understand his boyfriend, it seems he has nothing to worry about on that front. Still, he's left with the guilt of fantasising about his best friend, which is even more apparent when they get up and realise how badly they've ruined Combeferre's bedclothes.

"We'll have to put it all in the wash tonight," Enjolras says, and Grantaire groans at the thought of housework. "Hopefully it'll be dry before he gets back, and he won't notice."

"He won't notice," Grantaire reassures him, and once again Enjolras lets himself believe it's the truth.


End file.
